


Red Skies

by kathkin



Series: Cuddles [6]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (1963)
Genre: Jamie has PTSD, M/M, Panic Attacks, Past Violence, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-25
Updated: 2017-06-25
Packaged: 2018-11-18 21:12:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11298945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kathkin/pseuds/kathkin
Summary: He knew he oughtn’t let himself get lured into a sense of security – if there was one thing he’d learned those past few weeks it was that evil could lurk around even the friendliest corners.





	Red Skies

**Author's Note:**

> For [uighean](http://uighean.tumblr.com) and the prompt 'first cuddle' from [this post](http://penny-anna.tumblr.com/post/160076291748/cuddling-prompts).

“Well, isn’t this splendid!” The Doctor beamed at them, rubbing his hands together in delight.

“You say that about everywhere we land,” grumbled Ben.

“And we always end up in dire peril, somehow or other,” said Polly.

“Yeah!” said Ben.

“Oh, really,” the Doctor said. “Look around. Does this _look_ perilous?”

The place they’d landed looked, for the most part, like earth. The sky was a red-orange colour that delighted the Doctor but reminded Jamie unnervingly of blood. The streets were clean and lined with trees that swayed back and forth in the breeze like grass. The buildings were cream-coloured and gracefully built, with smooth columns and artful carvings.

“Appearances can be deceiving,” said Polly.

“Aye,” Jamie agreed.

“Well,” said the Doctor. “Are we in dire peril at the moment?”

“Spose not,” Ben conceded.

“It’s awfully quiet,” said Polly.

“Hm.” The Doctor tapped a finger to his lips, considering the street. Then with a cry of, “aha!” he bounded away from them.

As they chased after him, the reason for the quiet street became obvious. Moving through the town they heard a steady thrum of noise up ahead, voices and drums and marching feet.

“It’s a parade!” cried Polly.

“Oh, lovely!” The Doctor hopped at the back of the crowd, trying to see over the many heads between them and the fun. Craning his neck, Jamie saw flags, puppets, brightly-dressed women on stilts. 

“Up here!” cried the Doctor over the hum of the spectators.

He led them to a flight of steps behind the columns that dipped them briefly into shadows before leading out into the light. They were on a long terrace atop one of the many flat buildings. Behind them more columns rose up. Ahead was a stone balustrade, and an excellent view of the parade.

The Doctor stood by the balustrade, bouncing on his feet, humming to himself like an excitable child. “Look at that!”

Coming down the street was a line of men on horseback, bedecked with bells and long scarlet streamers. At the sight of them the crowd went wild.

“What’re they celebrating, then?” said Ben once the roar faded.

“Oh, I don’t know,” said the Doctor. “I’m sure it’s something nice. Oooh! Jugglers!”

Leaning on the balustrade, Jamie watched the procession. It was a curious sight, half familiar things, half alien curiosities like women rising green-furred dogs, men who juggled orbs of light and fire, pipes that breathed out many coloured smoke.

Letting out a breath, he allowed himself to relax. He knew he oughtn’t let himself get lured into a sense of security – if there was one thing he’d learned those past few weeks it was that evil could lurk around even the friendliest corners – but his gut told him this place was safe. These people were safe.

He heard drums beating, the sound thrilling him, a reminder of home. Craning his neck, he saw a line of drummers and behind them soldiers with long guns on their shoulders.

“Doctor, they’ve got guns,” he heard Polly say.

“Ceremonial weapons,” said the Doctor. “It’s, ah, some sort of military parade – it’s as I was saying –”

Jamie didn’t hear what it was the Doctor had been saying. Down below, the soldiers, in neat unison, unshouldered their rifles and fired a volley of glowing shots into the air. He flinched. The sight of it might be strange, but the crack of gunshots was unmistakeable and achingly familiar. It cut clean through him like a knife and he found himself squeezing the balustrade, his knuckles turning yellow-white.

What was wrong with him? He’d heard gunfire before – louder and fiercer and deadlier gunfire than this. He was in no danger.

As the crowd cheered, the soldiers fired another volley. This time he barely heard the crack-crack-crack of the shots, drowned out as it was by the sudden roar of his heartbeat in his ears.

He pressed an unsteady hand to his chest. His heart was going like he’d run a mile and though they’d stopped firing his pulse wasn’t slowing. It was too loud – it was all too loud, not just the guns but the crowds and the drums and the pipes. It was all too much and it was absurd, a moment ago he hadn’t a care in the world and now the fear of death was in him. He ought to pull himself together. He had to pull himself together.

He looked down at the soldiers, lifting their guns for another volley. He looked at the Doctor and Ben and Polly, rapt on the parade. He bolted.

Letting his feet carry him he ran between the columns at their backs, into a maze of white stone and greenery. He ran till the sounds of the parade faded to a low hum, till he burst out into an open space, a tiled balcony overlooking the town.

Gasping, he stumbled to the balustrade, noticing neither the view before him nor the drop. He gripped the smooth marble, trying to slow his breathing, to beat down his rising nausea. The tiled rooftop was tilting beneath his feet, rocking like the deck of a ship in a storm. He retched over the balustrade, his throat dry and aching.

It was like a nightmare. The cogent part of him wished desperately that it was just that, a dream, that he could wake up. He could taste blood in his mouth, feel it in his nostrils. The distant rumbling of the parade was getting louder, closer, and he wanted to cover his ears but he didn’t dare relax his grip on the stone rail –

“Jamie?” Footsteps on the tiles. “Jamie.”

Hazily, he recognised the Doctor’s voice. The drumming in his ears quieted. He rubbed a hand over his eyes, shame not quite overcoming his panic. The Doctor stood beside him. He didn’t turn to look.

“Good gracious,” said the Doctor. “Are you – Jamie, did something happen?”

Finding his tongue, Jamie said, “no.”

“Are you – sick?”

“No,” said Jamie. “I don’t – I don’t know.” A hand touched his shoulder and he flinched. “Don’t!”

Silently, guiltily, the Doctor’s hand retreated, and Jamie felt sick with shame, for getting like this, for hurting the Doctor when he was only trying to – trying to –

Drawing breath, he turned away from the dizzying view before him, took his head in his hands and groaned. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me – I just, I –”

The columns were swaying, wobbling, and he couldn’t breathe. He’d been calmer, but now the Doctor was there, witnessing him in this state, he couldn’t breathe. His chest ached, his throat burned, and he gasped for air like a man drowning.

“Jamie,” the Doctor said. “Jamie, look at me.” Wordless, breathless, Jamie shook his head. “No, no no. Jamie, please look at me?” His tone was so plaintive, Jamie didn’t have the strength to disobey. “That’s it. Now – breathe with me. In – out – in – out. Nice and slow, that’s it. Deep breaths, now. That’s it. There we are.”

He kept talking, mumbling about nothing in particular as Jamie’s breathing slowed, as the world stilled around him. His chest was burning but the world was quiet. The parade was a faint murmur on the edge of his hearing. It was quiet. They were alone.

“What brought that on?” said the Doctor. “Hm?”

“I don’t – I don’t know,” Jamie said, even though he knew perfectly well. He staggered, resting a hand on the balustrade. The fear was gone but in its place was a spreading, bone-deep exhaustion.

“Shall we sit down?” The Doctor made a move to put a guiding hand on his arm, but stopped short. He gestured instead, ushering Jamie to a stone bench looking out over the city. Jamie sat facing the columns instead, sat and tried to collect himself.

“Has this, ah – has this happened before?” said the Doctor.

Jamie shot him a scornful look. “Och, _no_.”

“I thought not.” The Doctor twiddled his thumbs. “Was it – was it the guns?”

Jamie stared at him, wondering just how he’d known – if he’d somehow seen into Jamie’s thoughts or if it was just that obvious, that glaringly obvious what a coward he was –

“Yes,” he confessed, hunching down low in his shame.

“I thought that might be it,” said the Doctor softly.

“I don’t know what came over me,” said Jamie. “It was just so loud and – I wasnae _scared_ , I’m no’ scared of, of –”

“Everyone gets scared, sometimes,” said the Doctor. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of.

“It’s nothing to be proud of, either,” said Jamie. He looked away, not daring to look the Doctor in his eyes. His face had gone soft and pitiful and Jamie couldn’t stand it. “It’s stupid,” he said. “I’ve been to war and I wasnae afraid. Not like that. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“Sometimes that’s, well, how it goes,” said the Doctor. “Seeing the sort of things you’re seen – terrible, violent things – it can damage a person. Sometimes you don’t feel it till months or even years afterwards. It’s rather like, ah, being wounded and not feeling the pain till the shock’s passed.”

Jamie looked at him. “You’re no’ telling me this happens to other people?”

“Well, of course.”

_Oh, aye_ , Jamie thought. “Has it ever happened to you?”

“Yes,” said the Doctor.

That threw him, a bit. He hadn’t expected the Doctor to say yes, let alone so plainly, so lightly. He said, “oh.”

“These things happen.” The Doctor’s hand hovered over his shoulder, afraid to touch.

“It’s alright,” Jamie blurted out. “You can touch me. I was just startled, before. It’s alright.” The Doctor squeezed his shoulder, and Jamie leaned into the contact, letting the Doctor’s arm slid around him. “D’you think it’ll happen again?” he said.

“It might,” said the Doctor. “It, ah. It gets a little easier.”

“I feel like a damn coward,” said Jamie.

“Don’t be silly,” said the Doctor. “You’re one of the bravest people I know. And I’ve met a lot of people.”

Jamie smiled despite himself. With a sigh, he rest his head on the Doctor’s shoulder, shifting closer. He reached out, fisting a hand in the Doctor’s coat, and in return the Doctor’s arms wrapped around him, drawing him fully into a hug.

The strange thing was, it didn’t feel strange, letting the Doctor hold him. It felt natural, and warm, and easy. It felt safe. He closed his eyes, feeling the warm sun on his skin, the Doctor’s slow breathing.

“Hmm,” said the Doctor. “Hmm?”

Jamie pulled away, rubbed at his face. “Aye.”

The Doctor’s hand rested upon his knee. “Would you like to go back to the parade?”

“I – ach. I don’t know,” said Jamie.

“Would you like to sit here quietly for a while?”

“Yes,” Jamie admitted.

“Alright, then,” said the Doctor.

“Sorry,” said Jamie.

“What for?”

“I don’t know,” Jamie said. “Thank you. For being so – for being here.”

“Any time.” The Doctor patted his shoulder. “You can talk to me, you know.”

Jamie thought about it. “Maybe – some time,” he said. “No’ today.”

“Whenever you’re ready,” said the Doctor.

The air around them was still, and quiet, the parade moved on. Jamie looked up at the red-gold sky, like a sunset, and closed his eyes, breathing it in, the quiet, the safety.

“Gases, in the upper atmosphere,” said the Doctor. “That’s what gives it that colour. Do you – like it?”

“It’s growing on me,” said Jamie.

“It feels like home, to me,” said the Doctor.

He said it so lightly, but Jamie felt the hidden weight of that statement. The Doctor had never talked about home before. Then again, they’d never embraced before. Something had passed between them, something intimate, and a barrier Jamie hadn’t been aware of had dissolved. He looked at the Doctor, looked at him properly.

“D’you want to talk about it?” he said slowly.

“Not especially,” said the Doctor. “Not now.”

Tentatively, shyly, Jamie dared to reach out and take his hand.


End file.
